


Not Your Senorita

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: The Choirgirl Set [6]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All I'm going to say is that there's some closure here, but not the sort you'll necessarily like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Your Senorita

I think that I need a change in my life. A big change. A drastic,  
life-altering sort of change. And soon.

This amazing revelation comes after my third glass of wine, alone in my  
apartment on a Friday night, the CD player cranked up so I don’t have to  
hear whatever’s going on upstairs. I think it’s a party or a rave or an  
orgy or something. I don’t know– it’s something loud and fun. I ignore  
it, concentrate on my evening instead.

“I am not your senorita, I am not from your tribe,” a woman’s voice  
informs me in song. “In my heart, in my heart I did no crime.” I sigh,  
pour myself another glass of wine to try to relax.

Is it love or is it lust or what, Dr. Scully, I ask myself. What exactly  
are you doing here? Life, after all, is what happens to you when you’re  
busy making other plans. And life is stale, flat and unprofitable  
and all that other Hamlet goo.

“If you want inside her, well, boy you better make her raspberry swirl,” the  
voice tells me brashly.

Lust. I acknowledge that part of what’s going on between me and Mulder  
is sheer, unadulterated lust, the need to feel skin on skin, the need to  
feel his mouth against every part of my body, to make me quiver with  
delight. And he’s good. I’ve quivered quite a few times, in quite a  
few positions. I think I’m addicted to this lust and how I fulfill it,  
and that’s sort of unhealthy.

Along with this lust, though, there’s more. No woman or man has died  
for lust, and I certainly could have resisted Mulder. I trusted him with  
my desire. I believed he knew that I allowed myself this luxury because  
he’d never betray me in this. If it wasn’t love, it was trust and  
friendship and desire, and if that wasn’t good enough– well. I don’t  
know what to say.

I should call. I sip at the wine instead, tasting it carefully. It’s in  
full bloom. I stretch out against the couch, feeling dark and dangerous.  
I look the absolute opposite, jeans and a top (a Victoria’s Secret  
aquamarine satin pajama top), barefoot, relaxed. I should call.

Screw it. I’m not gonna, not gonna, not gonna. I’m drowsy and tipsy and  
all I want is to curl up in a ball and fall asleep and forget who I am  
and what hell I exist in. I lay out, and start drifting off toward  
sleep–

“Good evening, darlin’,” I hear suddenly, just before I find myself  
shoved against the couch, pinned like a bug to a wall. The voice is not  
Mulder’s. I fight back as hard as I can to the sudden assault, but my  
assailant has me well and good.

“Let go of me, you asshole!” I shriek. “Don’t you try anything, I’ll  
kill you myself–”

He’s hooded, of course, trying to lose his identity behind a physical  
mask as he gives up emotional ones. I try to move, but his entire body  
has pinned my hands into my stomach.

“A lovely evening, I notice. A little wine, a little music– I like this  
CD, you know– a little reading– what’s the book, Agent Scully?”

He knows me, and I suddenly recognize the voice. His head turns to look  
at my book on the coffee table, and I let him know I recognize him.

“Krycek.”

“The English Patient! Is it any good? The movie bored me to sleep,” he  
taunts.

“Fuck the English Patient and fuck you, too,” I growl. “Let go of me.”

“I certainly would, Scully, if I thought you could be trusted,” he says.  
He’s driving me nuts. This murdering bastard, this liar of the utmost  
degree, and I’m not trustworthy?

I laugh, a low mocking laughter. He pushes me a little harder against  
the couch, his legs straddling mine to hold them in place. I’m being  
crushed, but it’s not that pain that concerns me.

“I know you, Special Agent Dr. Dana Katherine Scully,” he whispers.  
“I know if I let my guard down for a second, it would be my life. You’d  
kill me and not think twice. Isn’t that true?”

“You know it’s true,” I reply. “What do you want? Bored with raping  
Mulder, decided to go after me?”

His laughter is even more derisive than mine. “I should have expected  
that from you. Cheap shot. I’m no rapist. Besides, I like my boys boys  
and if there has to be a woman, I prefer her to be all woman.”

He wants me to take offense to this. But I look at him and shrug.

“Okay,” I say. “So what is it? Are you going to kill me so you can have  
Mulder all to yourself?”

His eyes bore into mine, green into blue, blue into green. Daggers of  
color, ice cold, like January. “I watched your sister die in this room.  
I watched her hit the floor, and I thought it was you.”

I let out a ragged scream of rage, and try to bite him, my only recourse  
right now. He laughs. “I knew I could make you thaw out,” he whispers.  
“Should I whisper to you about how her hair fanned out, how she slumped  
to the ground, how the blood began to flow? Should I tell you how good  
it felt when your boyfriend Mulder sucked me dry?”

“Tell me what you want, but you know what I want to know.”

“I don’t, actually,” he replies. “It’s an interesting position we’re in,  
you know.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, “We’ve become very close all of a sudden.”

He smiles appreciatively. “I see you’ve gotten very good with double  
entendres, Scully.”

“I’ve worked with Mulder for five years. Something of him has rubbed  
off on me,” I say sardonically. “Now would you *please* tell me why  
you’re here?”

“I’m worried about Mulder,” he confesses. “You know? He’s– there’s  
something very wrong with him. And you haven’t been helping, with that  
‘what infidelity’ attitude.”

“Oh, so you’d prefer the screaming shrew from hell tactic.”

“Men can handle the screaming shrew from hell,” he replies  
conversationally. “She’s a bitch. You are being a bitch in a way a  
man cannot handle. You’re acting the saint. You’re chewing his stomach  
out for the pleasure of watching him squeal. I’ve never understood you,  
why you’re so cruel to him.”

Squirming underneath this extremely well muscled killer, I stop in  
shock to hear this. “Me? Cruel?”

“You always have to be in control,” Krycek whispers. “You have to rule  
him in everything.”

My entire body is flooded with impotent fury. “What the hell are you  
thinking, Krycek? What the hell do you know?”

“I know you’re killing him,” he replies. “I came over here maybe to kill  
you, you know? But I know what that would do to Mulder, and I couldn’t  
do it.”

“So what do you want from me?” I ask.

“Give him up,” he whispers to me.

My legs are numb. His are like a vise, pressing tighter and tighter,  
trying to squeeze something out of me. My arms are jammed against my  
chest. It hurts.

“What?” I whisper.

“I don’t think you love him,” Krycek says. “There’s a difference  
between want and need and love, you know.”

“I don’t need that lesson from *you*.”

We are at an impasse, pinned together on this couch in a grotesque  
parody of love and sex, when our intentions range more toward hatred  
and death.

And then the phone rings, sound and then silence.

Again. I plead to him with one word.

“Krycek.”

“If it’s that important, they’ll leave a message.”

“You ever gonna let me up?” I ask.

The machine clicks on, and the beep barely goes through when–

“This message is for Dr. Dana Scully, this is Dr. Ken Fraser with  
Alexandria General Hospital, you’re listed as contact person for a  
Special Agent Fox William Mulder and he’s down here–”

Krycek jumps off me fast, and I’m up and off the couch nearly as fast,  
though not as fast as he is, for I dive for the phone.

“Hello? Hello hello?” I gasp into the phone.

“Dr. Scully?” a startled voice asks.

“Yes, what happened to Mulder?” I ask.

“He’s– he’s overdosed on pills and alcohol, we think. We don’t know if  
it’s deliberate or not.”

“I’ll be there in an hour,” I say.

“All right.”

The doctor hangs up and I pause. “I won’t tell you anything if you don’t  
take the gun off me, Alex,” I say resolutely.

“I can find Alexandria General.”

“He could be dead.”

He’s paused now, and I turn around, slowly. “We go together,” I inform  
him.

“Why? Because our love for Special Agent Mulder is so overwhelming that  
we can put aside our jealousies and our difficulties for him?” Krycek  
sneers. I answer with a smile just on this side of absolute zero.

“No, you slimy, lower than shit rat bastard son of a bitch. It’s because  
I don’t trust you one bit, and it appears the feeling’s mutual. I’ll  
drive– don’t argue with me.”

“Fine,” he says. “But consider what I’ve said.”

In the car there is silence at first. We have nothing to say to each  
other. But you just can’t stay silent in a car. You can’t. And he talks  
first.

“You love him, I think, in a way most people don’t understand,” he says,  
as we pass by the exit for the 50. “You’re– different.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, eyes  
focussed on the road. “Different. Because I’m not a girly girl?”

“Because you’re practically not human,” he replies. “Because you should  
be– I don’t know, dead. In a mental institution.”

“So you think I’m tough,” I say calmly. “What exactly are we going to  
do in the hospital?”

“Nothing. It’s up to Mulder.”

“Mulder could be in a coma. And besides, Mulder doesn’t want to decide.  
If you’ve ever noticed, he’s kind of indecisive. He wants it both ways.”

“I don’t mind,” Alex says. “I–”

“I do,” I say levelly. “I’m not open-minded enough to consider a  
threesome between you and me and Mulder. It sort of– turns my  
stomach.”

“Sort of?” Krycek asks. “I’m more along the lines of that we’re separate  
parts of Mulder’s life that could stay separate.”

I pretend not to hear that and keep driving. He laughs.

“You are so– jealous! You are!” he says.

“Krycek, before we start fighting over our boyfriend, do recall you  
killed my sister, distracted Mulder so I could get abducted and  
experimented on for three months, and you’re a lying, doublecrossing son  
of a bitch. Not to mention what you and Mulder are doing, so let’s just  
remember that, okay?” I say. “This is not a romantic comedy, and I am  
definitely not in the mood.”

“Is it ever easy being you?” he asks.

“You think about me too much.”

“It’s not that I want to,” he replies. “But understanding Mulder means  
understanding you, and frankly, beyond the enigma of why he wants you,  
Mulder’s easy. He feels like he could succeed, but control keeps getting  
taken away from him, from Samantha on. He resents it but he takes it on  
the off chance he can trick victory out of something.”

He’s definitely done a lot of thinking about Mulder. I still face  
forward, thinking about the same subject, but my thoughts are harsher.  
Suicide? Is he actually crazy enough to kill himself over this? Okay,  
he is crazy enough, but was he really that desperate?

Alexandria General. Alexandria General. If he’s out, how’d they find  
him? Who cared enough? My head throbs with it, and I remember how much  
wine I’ve had this evening. Good, Dana, good, drive drunk. Alexandria  
General, I remember where that is, yes, this exit.

“I forgot that you’re drunk,” Krycek murmurs.

“Is it really that obvious?” I ask, deliberately taking the right turn  
too big and swerving. He gets a little wild-eyed as I get a tad crazy  
driving these last blocks, and pull into the parking spot with a jerk.  
I turn to him with a smile.

“Here we are. Alexandria General. Please depart the vehicle in an  
orderly manner and remember that I’ve got a gun with me, too, and I’m  
FBI, while you are wanted by every government known to man, so no  
attempted violence.”

He laughs, and gets out of the car. I follow, but we get separated.  
I should have guessed, but I’ve got a badge and a name.

“I’m looking for Fox Mulder, I’m Dana Scully– I was contacted–”

Words follow these, important words, but I just hear the directions.  
Fourth floor, room 806. Pumped his stomach, he’ll be fine, talk about  
drug abuse treatment, I’m on the elevator.

In the elevator, second floor, it pauses, Krycek gets on.

“Where?” he asks in a voice tight with fear (fear?) and a certain  
emotion that makes me nervous.

“I won’t tell you. You’ll have to follow me.”

He pulls out his gun. I pull out mine.

“Let’s go,” he says. “You and me.”

“No.”

Fourth floor. Ding.

I run, full speed, and for once I’m not in those motherfucking three  
inch heels, I’m in tennis shoes, and I am at full throttle. I hear  
Krycek pursuing, and the absurdity of racing to Mulder’s room finally  
overwhelms me, and I stop cold.

Of course, I stop right in front of 806, and everyone is staring at me,  
but at least I decided to stop. I open the door quietly. Krycek is right  
behind me, just as silent.

“Match point, Scully. What’s your move?” he asks.

I have given him as much as I could, and it is not enough. Mulder  
wants more. Mulder wants everything, that little fragment of my soul  
that I tried to keep safe for myself, even at the worst of times.

“Go,” I whisper. “If you really think that you are what he wants.”

He doesn’t pause. He doesn’t consider. Alex Krycek, I realize, must  
have what he wants. So I follow behind into the room, while Krycek bends  
to the bed, the murderer, the liar. I could blow his head off right now;  
he wouldn’t be expecting it.

“Mulder?” he asks softly, kneeling down to Mulder’s level. I remember  
more of the conversation with the nurse now. They pumped his stomach,  
he should be fine.

There is a small moan from the bed.

“Mulder, I’m here,” I call from behind him. I’m afraid. I’m afraid I  
can’t let him go, because I know what he needs, and I can’t give it to  
him, I can’t. God help me, I’ll give him to a murdering thug, but I  
can’t–

His hand reaches out and takes Krycek’s outstretched one. And clasps.  
I close my eyes, wishing for tears, but none come. Neither joy nor  
despair in this. Mulder has finally made a choice, though it took my  
courage to do so.

I turn to leave them alone.

“Don’t.”

The voice is very clearly Mulder’s, and my eyes are still closed, with  
the image of Krycek holding Mulder’s hand seared into my brain. Don’t.  
Don’t what? Don’t go, don’t stay, don’t stop, Alex?

Don’t cry. Don’t scream. Don’t let me fall in love with Mulder. Don’t  
let me lose whatever I had safe for myself. Deep breath.

“I’ll be back. I promise,” I say.

I walk outside. I don’t cry. I don’t feel anything, actually. I’ll  
go back in and deal with everything shortly. I need only a moment.

If that moment takes eternity, I won’t mind a bit.

 


End file.
